Acceptance
by Senoritatito
Summary: When Hermione comes to teach at Hogwarts two years after graduating, she finds acceptance in interesting places...
1. Alone and Out of Character

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and am not associated with Warner Brothers, and therefore do not own Harry Potter in any way. Except for the fact that I possess copies of the books, but that is irrelevant. Don't sue me! I have no money.

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_Three down, twenty-two to go._

Late at night, up in a high tower of Hogwarts castle, Hermione Granger sat in her study grading the latest essays from her third year Transfiguration class. Although the information covered in these particular essays was basic and almost ingrained in her memory, Hermione found herself checking and double-checking the contents in the teacher's edition of the Transfiguration textbook.

_The essay says that the _Ferraverto_ spell can be used to change anything into a water goblet, but isn't it just for animal transfigurations?_

Hence Hermione went to look it up. She knew she was right, but what if she wasn't? What if she embarrassed both the student and herself with her error? It was this worrying about nitpicky details that accounted for the amount of time it took her to grade the papers. _Three in two hours just won't cut it, she told herself,__ if I have twenty-two more to grade._

Only two weeks of the current term had passed and already Hermione, or Professor Granger as she was known to her students, was bogged down with work that she made twice as hard for herself. All the other professors would just read essays, decide what was correct and what wasn't, make the necessary changes, and go on two the next.

But not Hermione.

Perhaps this was why she wasn't bonding as well as she had hoped with her colleagues. Staff meetings were both preceded and followed by chatting amongst the professors, but none of them saw fit to include her. Only Professor McGonagall would really talk to Hermione. This was only because the two women had worked together closely when Hermione was Head Girl. And also because Hermione occupied McGonagall's old position as Transfiguration teacher. And, of course, because McGonagall was Headmistress, and saw it her job to make everyone feel included. 

Dumbledore had died, not in the Great Battle which so many people thought would be his end. No, he had survived that, and helped Harry Potter defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore died of kidney failure. No one in the Wizarding World quite understood why, but they blamed it on his overfondness for lemon drops and other Muggle sweets. 

Hence Minerva McGonagall was Headmistress, Severus Snape was Deputy Headmaster, and Hermione Granger became the youngest professor Hogwarts had seen for quite some time. 

Perhaps this was another reason why the other professors didn't think to include her in their plans to go to Hogsmeade of a Friday night for drinks at the Three Broomsticks, or invite her to their small get-together they incessantly chatted about before and after staff meetings. 

In their eyes, Hermione was still a student. She had only graduated two years prior, hence making her seem, to the other professors, no older than most students. They were not outwardly cold to her, quite the opposite, but didn't find it necessary to be chatty and familiar with her whenever they got the chance.

Which left Hermione to spend most of her free time in her room, with no company besides an aging Crookshanks. And an increasingly tall stack of essays. She sighed. For a fleeting moment she considered tracking down McGonagall for a chat.

_No, she'll be at Friday Hogsmeade Drinks right about now._

Still, the need to have some company overwhelmed her, and abruptly she stood and strode out the door, leaving Crookshanks all alone. Hermione sped off down the corridor, paying no attention to where she was going as she didn't expect to encounter anyone, knowing her luck. 

Given this, she was rather shocked when she ran into a wall of solid black and fell backwards onto the cold stone floor.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for roaming the hallways after curfew, Miss Granger," came a cool, maliciously gleeful voice from about six feet above where she currently lay. She got to her feet and looked the speaker in the eye.

"I believe, _Severus_, that I have as much right to be out after curfew as you, being that I am now a professor," she answered in an annoyed but not unfriendly tone. After all, human contact was what she set out for, and it was now close at hand.

"Oh, sorry, Miss- um, Professor Granger. Carry on, then." He didn't sound so malicious, now. Simply cold.

"Feel free to call me Hermione. It's my name, you know. And incidentally, why are you not at Hogsmeade Drinks Night right now?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I do not go because someone has to see to the school while the other professors are out, and as Deputy Headmaster, I feel that is my job. Also, as you may have noticed, I am not generally a social person," he replied, not quite so cold, but not quite warm and inviting either. "What is your reason for not attending the traditional Friday cocktail rounds?"

"Um, well, you see I simply wasn't invited, Severus."

A strange look flashed across Snape's face, apparently a mix of mild surprise and pity.

"I see. Well, I suppose you look like you need company. Would you like to join me for tea?"

Hermione stared at him in incredulity. _This is Snape, she thought._ Snape is apparently being kind to me. Snape is apparently inviting me for TEA of all things, at this hour of the night. I never thought I'd see the day when THAT happened.__

"Contrary to popular belief, _Hermione, I am not as inhospitable towards my __colleagues as I am towards my students."_

_Shit, I said that out loud, didn't I? _

"Sorry, Severus, you just caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting-"

"Clearly. Who would have thought that Greasy Vampire Snape was capable of positive social interaction?" He sounded slightly affronted under the thick layer of sarcasm. "Do you want tea or not? You look like you could use some company."

_Well, out of character or not, Snape is offering me company, and that _is_ what I set out for in the first place..._

"Yes, Severus. Tea would be quite pleasant."


	2. I Would Have Given the Other Bloke the B...

Acceptance, Chapter Two: I would have given the other bloke the boring biscuits.

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"Yes, Severus. Tea would be quite pleasant."

Snape spun on his heel and made a motion to Hermione to follow him. She did, in silence. After all, what could she say? What kind of tea are you going to serve, sir? How do you reckon the Harpies are doing this season, sir? He never had struck her as being a quidditch-watching sort of man. But then again, he had just shattered his reputation in her mind of being an all-around bastard with no manners whatsoever.

Her thoughts were broken with a comment from Snape.

"I take it you'd rather have something herbal at this late hour? Surely the caffeine in the regular tea would make it rather hard for you to sleep tonight?"

"Yes, sir, caffeine would keep me up all night, and that's exactly what I don't need right now."

"I see. Very well then, herbal tea it is."

_Well, I guess that's the question of what kind of tea we're having answered, eh?_

They walked on down the dark and increasingly damp corridor until Snape stopped in front of an inconspicuous, seemingly blank portion of the wall. Snape leaned in very close to the door, whispered the password, and suddenly, the stone blocks that compiled the wall sprang to life to form an archway, Diagon Alley style. 

Hermione was impressed- most of the entrances to the private rooms in Hogwarts were concealed behind portraits and the likes. She didn't say anything- after all, she had never seen anyone compliment Severus to his face, except perhaps Dumbledore, and didn't want to find out firsthand how he would take a kind word from one of his former least favorite students. 

Hermione stepped inside the room. It looked almost precisely as she would have imagined it to appear. All of the furniture was minimal- very practical, taking up as little space as possible. Arranged around the large fireplace was a set of dark, worn-looking brown leather chairs- not worn like you'd expect something in your grandmother's house to be, but the kind of worn that just suggested that the chairs had seen better days, and those were about 80 years ago. The fire in the grate was burning in a very subdued manner. Against the wall adjoining the fireplace was a series of bookshelves, with many old leather-bound books and a few potions journals, obviously from a while back and read over quite a few times. 

The shelves on the wall facing the fireplace and the bookshelves were home to jars of specimens quite akin to those housed in Snape's office, but not quite as intimidating-looking.  Towards the end of the room were two doors, and through one a small-ish kitchen was visible. Behind the other door, which was closed, Hermione assumed was the bedroom. She didn't ask Severus. He'd probably snap at her. She also noted that there were quite a few paintings on the walls- not wizard portraits- they didn't even move. 

Hermione thought they were quite good, and again, she said nothing. 

"What do you expect to gain, Miss Granger, by staring around my rooms?"

Hermione started.

_Well! I didn't realize I was staring, but surely I am entitled to have a look around the place? Merlin's beard! _

"I was under the impression, Miss Granger, that you are here for tea and not for an art show."

"I've told you before, Severus, please call me Hermione as I am no longer a student. Speaking of art, where did you get those paintings? I noticed they're not moving. I assume they're Muggle work?"  
  


"You assume incorrectly," said Severus, looking every bit the intimidating, harsh Potions Master that the students thought he was. His eyes flashed in a way that Hermione interpreted as hurt.

"Do you mind me asking again, Severus, where did you get them? They're rather good," she added hastily. 

He smiled slightly.

"I did them, Hermione."

"Oh."

"Do you want tea or not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, practice what you preach, _Hermione, and drop the formalities."  
  
_

"Yes, Severus."

She followed him silently into the kitchen, which was in a style exactly like that of the potions classroom. After a short while searching, she located the table and chairs and made use of them. From this vantage point she watched as her former professor retrieved a mortar and pestle, a tea kettle, a tea pot, and two mugs from one of the numerous cupboards covering the walls. He made to open another cupboard door, then stopped sharply and turned to face his former student.

"What do you care for?"

"Pardon?"

"What sort of _tea_ do you require, Hermione?"

"Well, anything is fine except for vervain, mulberry, and St. John's Wort. I can't have any of those- they interact with my anti-stress potion."

"I see. How's lemongrass and rosemary?"   
  


"Should be fine."

He retrieved the herbs from the cupboard, set the kettle to boil, and went about crushing the herbs in the mortar and pestle.

_Too much work for a cup of tea, I think. Why can't he just use magic?_

He saw the questioning look she was giving him.

"I prefer to make tea without the use of magic. I find it has a better flavour as opposed to tea made with water heated by heating charms."

"Well, that's good for you, but I find I have no time to do things the hard way with all the work I have to do grading papers, preparing lesson plans...."

She launched off into a long speech about her troubles and woes that she encountered in her (as of yet) very short teaching career. After about five minutes of ranting and rambling, she caught herself.

"Sorry, Severus, I got carried away. I won't bother you with any more of my troubles."  
  


He grabbed her shoulder from behind. She jumped at his touch, but he didn't seem to care.

"Hermione, as Deputy Headmaster, it's part of my job to listen to you whine. As much as I detest it," he said with an oddly Dumbledore-like twinkle of understanding and benevolence in his eye.

A bold idea thought struck her, and, as she was quite tired and didn't care about what he would do if she was insolent, she voiced it.

"Carry on in this vein in class, Professor, and your students will think you're losing your touch." Belatedly, she noticed that she had called him by his title.

He looked as if he was about to say something equally as rude but the kitchen timer went off, signaling that the tea was ready. He brought the teapot and cups to the table, and she was surprised to see that they didn't all match. The teapot was white with green shamrocks looking rather old and abused with a cracked lid. One cup sported a delicate pink-and-blue floral pattern, and the other bore the legend: 'Potions Masters Do it in Cauldrons.' 

She thought this was _very _odd, but declined to comment. She sipped the tea that Snape had set before her in the pink-and-blue floral teacup. Surprisingly, it didn't taste very bitter or overly medicinal, and decided to share this insight with her companion.

"I'm glad you like it. I find that grinding the herbs in the mortar and pestle releases the essential oils and gives the tea a more definite and complete flavour."

She raised an eyebrow. 

"You sound like someone on a Muggle cooking show."

He looked like he was about to try to deduct points from Gryffindor, but then caught himself.

A few minutes passed in silence.

"You don't know how nice it is to have someone to have tea with. I've felt so alone these past few weeks, I've never been in a place with so many people who have known me for so many years who don't really talk to me...." She went off again about her problems, breaking down into tears at the end.

_It must be because I'm tired, or PMS or something... I'm not usually this emotional. And in front of Professor Snape! I must be crazy, he'll probably take points off for this._

And then she realized that he was no longer her professor, and that he couldn't take points off for her emotional display.

She felt someone lightly patting her back. She looked up to see Snape, looking concerned. She smiled slightly at him, in a way that she thought said _thanks, I appreciate it._

Suddenly, he stopped. 

"I think it's time you went to bed, Hermione. It's late, and you don't want to be tired for your classes tomorrow," he said with a very neutral face. 

_But tomorrow's Saturday! There aren't any classes..._

She opened her mouth to tell him as such but realized that, no, she'd spare him the embarrassment of pointing out his mistake. 

"Right, then, Severus, I think I'll be going now. Good night." She stood up and walked out of the kitchen. He followed her. When she got to the door, he half-embraced her rather hesitantly, and patted her back in what he thought would be a reassuring manner, then suddenly let go. She smiled at him with tears forming in her eyes.

"Thank you, Professor."

"It's Severus, how many times must I remind you, foolish girl! Five points from.... Oh, blast! I forgot the biscuits!"

_Righty__ then, I don't to know. Who is this strange person and what has he done with the Severus Snape I knew as a student? Actually, no, I don't want to know that either, it's probably too weird to believe._

"It's all right, Severus, I don't need biscuits, I think I'll just go off to my rooms and sleep. Thanks for the offer."

She turned around and went off down the dark corridor towards her rooms. Five minutes later, she heard footsteps behind her. Startled, she spun around.

There, to her surprise, was Severus Snape, holding a very Muggle-looking plastic baggie full of chocolate covered biscuits. He held it out to her.

"Here, take them. Don't make my efforts prove useless," he panted. 

_Curiouser__ and curiouser._

"Um, I don't quite know what to say. Thanks."

"I got the chocolate ones, just for you. Usually I would give tea-guests the plain kind, the round little vanilla flavored dry and rather nasty ones."

_Umm... well then.__ Definitely must ask Minerva to test him for Polyjuice._

"Thanks, Severus, I really must be going, I'm so tired...."

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1-

On ff. net: Cat-of-the-Western-Lands, Saerelle, KDarkMaiden, Da Bomb(FireBlade, Paprika, and Kemenran.

On Fictionalley: The pooh, Jenny7611, White Owl 2, Eponine Rose, queenalissa, and Euridice,

Thank you to all! Thanks for reading!


	3. Trials and Errors

Acceptance, Chapter Three: Trials and Errors

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It was well past midnight when Hermione returned to her quarters. While she didn't feel any less stressed out (she still had a mountain of essays to grade, after all), she felt considerably less lonely and alone. 

_Chocolate biscuits, of all things._

Due to Severus' atypical behavior that evening, she was quite hesitant to consume the sweets. After all, it could be some deranged Death Eater under Polyjuice trying to poison her. You never know. _Or it could be a lonely older man trying to branch out and make some good friends before he died. _ 

Going with her second thought, she decided to sample a biscuit. 

_Well, if it's poisoned, and I die,  at least I won't have to grade these blasted essays._

She took a bite. Immediately her mouth was flooded with warm, chocolate-ish goodness. She felt as if she had been warmed to the very soul._ I must ask him for that recipe, it's awfully good…_

That was the last thing she thought before she fell, unconscious, to the floor.  

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The next morning, she woke at 8:30 feeling absolutely refreshed, despite the fact that she spent the night on the cold, hard, stone floor with nary a pillow. _Blast him and those biscuits! I knew he poisoned them, the git. _

Despite the giant amount of work she had anticipating getting out of the way that Sunday, Hermione felt the overpowering urge to go down to the dungeons and slap that horrible greasy man. And then, reveling in her satisfaction of slapping her formerly-most-hated professor, she'd get breakfast in the Great Hall.

And so she did. 

She marched down the corridors, trying to remember where Snape's quarters were, when, for the second time in less than twelve hours, she ran into a solid wall of black. 

She didn't act embarrassed this time.

"What EXACTLY did you put in those biscuits? Merlin's teeth, I should have known better than to eat something given to me by someone who CLEARLY is not a safe person to accept food from! Even if you really are Professor Severus Snape! Which you most clearly are not!"

She slapped him, hard, across the face.

A flash of hurt crossed his face before he put back on his deadpan mask.

"Clearly, Hermione, if you had any suspicions that I was not Severus Snape, you shouldn't have eaten the biscuits in the first place. I would have thought that year of studying under 'Alastor Moody' would have taught you that. Needless to mention the experience of the war. Foolish Girl," he spat out and glared at her.

She was insulted and glared back.

His expression softened the tiniest bit and he added, "It was just a simple Sleeping Draught and Rejuvenation Potion combination I have been working on. It's done wonders for me, and I thought it might do you some good, as that Anti-stress potion you mention surely isn't doing anything." 

She went from death glare to you-stupid-idiot glare. "Oh. And why did you not just give me the potion in regular form? Or tell me that the cookies would knock me unconscious? Or just ask my permission before _drugging me?"_

"The baggie was labeled, 'Relaxation Biscuits.' You should have read it."

"What do you expect? I was tired and in no state of mind to consider looking for a label on a baggie given to me by a co-worker!" She sounded considerably distressed. 

"I see."

A few moments passed before she realized the absurdity of the conversation she was having. Then she realized that she was staring at Snape. He noticed that as well.

"Is there anything you find particularly interesting about my appearance, Hermione?"

"No, sir, I was just considering if you are really Snape or if you are some crazed Death Eater under Polyjuice who is trying and failing miserably to impersonate him in order to poison me."

"I assure you that I really am Severus Snape and not some deranged Death Eater under Polyjuice who is trying to kill you. If you need proof, you can just stand here with me for the next hour or so, and see that I do not change."

She saw the look of 'I don't believe how strange you really are' that was sent her way by Snape, and felt suitably embarrassed. 

"By the way, do you have the recipe for those biscuits? I rather enjoyed the taste before I passed out."

He gave her a wicked grin. "I am afraid, my dear, that you'll just have to ask me to make a batch if you ever want one. It's an old family recipe, secret, can't tell you." 

They chatted about various things, from potions ingredients to the medicinal properties of chocolate to teaching strategies, for the next two hours. As the period of time drew to a close, Hermione paid careful attention to Severus' physical appearance so as to notice if he started to change. Her gaze drifted from his hair, _which was still black as it should be, to his prominent nose, __still hooked, to his mouth, __still thin-lipped, to his robes with all the buttons, _still as tight as they should be, thank goodness…__

_Hmm, that was random… Like I'd know how tight they should be, right… Oh well._

She was drawn out of her reverie by a rumble from her stomach. _I had meant to slap him and then get breakfast. I'm only half way done with my task. Must get breakfast in the Great Hall. I wonder if he'd like to join me?_

"Oh! I'm quite hungry. Care to join me for breakfast?"

"No, I've already eaten and I have piles of essays written by the dunderheads we call our students to grade. I need to get back to the dungeons. I can't spend all day chatting, can I?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Righty then. I'll be off to breakfast. Have fun grading essays," she added sarcastically.

He snorted.

"I'm sure I will. Would you like to join me for late-night tea again this evening? I can assure you it won't be as awkward as was last night."

"Er... All right, I guess, it's just I also have a stack of papers also, and I don't know how long it will take me."  
  


"About how long do you spend on each one?"

"Oh, about two hours."  
  
 "How do you ever expect to return them within a reasonable amount of time if you are that slow at marking? If you have any left by ten o'clock this evening, you can bring them with you to my quarters and I'll let you mark them while you have tea with me." He sounded ridiculously like this tea date was some strange form of detention. 

She nodded in agreement and set off to the kitchens to grab a roll. After all, it was eleven and breakfast would have ended half an hour before.

_I wonder if this will become a tradition, nightly tea with Snape. I really should write Harry and Ron. They will most certainly be amused by this turn of events._


	4. A Decorating Faux Pas

Acceptance, Chapter 4

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_I wonder if this will become a tradition, nightly tea with Snape. I really should write Harry and Ron. They will most certainly be amused by this turn of events._

After a quick trip to the kitchens to grab some semblance of a breakfast, Hermione trekked back up to her quarters to write a letter to Harry and Ron. Harry was currently staying with Ron at the Burrow, at the insistence of Mrs. Weasley. Harry could easily have bought his own house, or stayed at Grimmauld Place, but Mrs. Weasley's offer of accommodations was more like an order. After all, he and Ron were best mates, and worked in the same department at the ministry, and happened to be engaged. 

_I knew they'd figure it out eventually. After Luna died, there really didn't seem to be anyone else good enough or strange enough for Harry._

Hermione sat down at her desk, picked up her quill and favourite shade of ink (scarlet that flashed gold in the right type of candlelight), and began writing:

_Dear Harry and Ron,_

_Congratulations on your engagement! I know I've said it before but I must repeat myself. _

_How are the wedding arrangements going? I hope you'll take my advice from the last letter and have it over a school holiday, that way all your old professors (and the professors who didn't formally instruct you (wink wink)) will be able to attend._

_Speaking of professors, there has been a most interesting change in my situation at Hogwarts. You know how no one would talk to me except McGonagall before? I now have a new social companion. Three guesses who. (You'll never guess, I bet!) Have some hints: The person likes to paint Muggle-style, gives me chocolate biscuits, and compulsively labels plastic baggies. _

_Teaching is great still, except I'm buried under an ever-increasing pile of essays to grade. Although I hope to get some pointers tonight at my tea-date with my new friend._

_I await your letter, and make sure you guess who!  
  
Love,_

_Hermione._

She signed her name with a flourish and set her quill down. She didn't feel like physically walking up to the Owlery to send the letter, so she sent it thence via the fireplace which connected to another in the Owlery, a bit like the Floo network. _Well, that's over with. Now- the dreaded essays._ She set her clock to alert her when it was time to head to the dungeons, and began to mark the papers.

About nine hours later and only five papers left to mark, a loud rendition of _La Cucaracha_ startled Hermione from her work. Belatedly, she realized that she hadn't allowed herself enough time to get dressed properly _and_ get dinner. Knowing she had to make a choice between the two, she chose to get dressed. _I don't need dinner, he'll probably give me some biscuits when I'm there._

Ten minutes later found her walking down to the dungeons, essays in hand. This time, she didn't bump into anyone, and found herself standing before what she thought was the seemingly blank portion of wall that concealed the entrance to Severus' private quarters. Suddenly, she realized that she really had now clue what the password was. She knocked. There was no answer. Hermione slumped down and sat on the floor opposite the wall. Figuring she'd have to wait here until Snape came to look for her, she plonked the essays in front of her, retrieved her quill from her breast pocket, and began marking. It was only when a deep, silky voice sounded above her that she looked away from her work.

"Is there anything particular about this section of hallway that you find helpful in grading papers, Hermione?"

It was Severus.

"Well, I knocked on your wall and there was no answer. What do you expect me to do?"

"You could have found a fireplace and contacted mine with it."

"Oh."

She looked around the hallway for a little while, waiting for him to invite her in. Her posterior ached a bit from sitting on the cold, hard stone.

"Shall we stand out here all night, Hermione, or shall we go inside? I have prepared a small repast for us to enjoy, but I fear it would be quite vile were it to congeal."  
  


She noted he was making a point of calling her by her given name.

"Very well, Severus, if you insist. I have rather taken a liking to your hallway, though. And the floor really is most comfortable," she said a bit sarcastically.

He arched an eyebrow, whispered the password to the wall, and entered through the archway that formed. Hermione followed suit. 

"What have you planned for this evening, Severus?"  
  


"We are to enjoy a light meal of vegetable curry and basmati rice, with mango _lassi_ and Indian tea. Afterwards, we shall go over the finer points of grading papers at a rapid rate, and then, time permitting...."

"Time permitting.... what?" Hermione asked.

"Do you absolutely have to know?"  
  


"Yes!"  
  


"In that case, I won't tell you. It's a surprise. You'll find out when it happens. Shall we have dinner? I trust you didn't have dinner. You were probably too busy grading papers and didn't have the time-"

She realized he was babbling and decided to save both of them. "Come, let's have dinner before it gets cold."

For the second time, she followed him to his kitchen. As they walked, she watched him walk. _Hmm...__ he walks a bit strangely, almost stiffly. I wonder what happened to him to affect his walk like that...._ When they reached the entrance, he spun around and made her stop. 

"Tonight, my dear, we eat at the formal table. I'm quite tired of eating dinner in my kitchen, the formal table is much nicer."

_Did he just call me 'my dear'? Righty then._

"I didn't realize you had a dining room, Severus." _After all, it is odd enough that he has a full kitchen. Most of the teacher quarters only have a kitchenette, or so I've heard from Minerva. A dining room would be really odd. I wonder if he entertains often-_

"I don't. I rearrange the furnishings in my living room and conjure a table. It's too much work unless I have company. Go, sit- I'll bring the dinner in about five minutes."   
  


She was directed towards a fairly small circular table with chairs opposite each other. The tablecloth was a dark navy and was offset by a pair of silver candlesticks with navy blue tapers, already lit. The plates and silverware were already there as well. It looked like it was planned as a romantic dinner for two, and this idea made Hermione let out a little snort. _He probably thinks it just looks formal, and it does complement some of the accents in the room...._

She sat down, and soon afterwards her host returned with a teapot and two cups, which he set on the table before heading back to the kitchen. He appeared again with two steaming bowls, which he put down and sat down himself. 

"I hope you enjoy this. It's one of my favourite dinners." With that, he ladled some of the rice and curry onto her plate. She examined it discreetly.

"What's this?" she asked, holding up a square of tofu on her fork. She thought, belatedly, that to hold up one's food and inquire as to its identity was a trifle rude, but decided against doing anything about it.

"Tofu," came the terse reply. "It's a sort of soy bean curd-"

"I know what it is. It was a bit strange to me that you cook with it. I mean, it has always occurred to me as a very Muggle thing."  
  


"What's wrong with that? Am I not entitled to use Muggle food? I thought you might enjoy it, being a Muggle. It's something I discovered during an operation for the Order a few years ago. It's very convenient- it tastes like anything that's around it."  
  


"It's just that I was expecting, say, chicken or beef or something like that."  
  


"Why would you expect that? I thought you were a vegetarian?"  
  


"How did you know? Yes, I am a vegetarian, but most other people aren't, and they don't expect me be one either."  
  


"I know enough from watching you eat in the Great Hall when you were in your seventh year. I thought you'd still be one, due to that Gryffindor tendency to be stubborn and set in your ways."

"And you?"  
  


"What about me?"  
  


"Are you a vegetarian yourself?"

"Not strictly, no. I don't eat meat often because I find it makes my temper a bit stronger than it is when I don't eat it. Odd, really, I don't know anyone else to whom that happens."  
  


_All right, I wonder exactly how many drinks he had before I arrived because he's babbling way more that is usual for anyone, let alone him. He just seems more relaxed than he always is...like that'd be hard..._

The remainder of the meal passed in much the same manner, with discussions on the origin of tofu and a bit of mild argument back and forth. It was, overall, an enjoyable diversion from the tedium of grading papers. The time didn't seem to drag on for Hermione as social visits occasionally did, and before she knew it the time was well past

10.  

Severus, too, noticed the hour. 

"Perhaps I need to let you go back to marking papers, Hermione, if you need to. It's getting a bit late, you know."

"I thought you'd give me pointers on that, Snape. Grading, that is." She mentally hit her forehead. _Stupid, Granger, really.__ He's going to think you're an incoherent moron now._

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Of course, Granger. I actually just have two suggestions. One, go with your gut. Two, don't spend more than ten minutes per paper. Three, give the person the grade they deserve, not a sugar-coated version. Four, only criticize what's wrong with the paper so they can fix it. Five..."  
  


"I thought you said that you had only two suggestions?"

Snape harrumphed. "Fine then, Miss Know-It-All, if you're so brilliant then you can figure out the rest yourself."

"It's all right, I'll be quiet if you tell me the rest."

"Some other day, Hermione, some other day."

She frowned inwardly at his reply. She wasn't some petulant child begging to hear more of a story! However, she kept her sentiments to herself. Severus would see any resistance to his statement as whiny, and that was definitely not the way she wanted to be seen. They were equals now, after all. Adults working in the same workplace. Colleagues. Dare she think it, even friends. 

_My, my, how the world changes._

"So, Hermione, do you have time for my little surprise, or do you need your beauty sleep?"

_Beauty sleep__, really. I ask you._

"I do have time, Severus. Surprise away."

He escorted her to one of his old, woebegone leather couches, and indicated that she should sit down. She noticed from this vantage point what she was not able to on her initial inspection of the room. Several stationary paintings hung on the wall, some of them quite real, some of them extremely abstract, most of them done in a palette of moody and brooding blues, browns, greens, and grays. In the middle of the display was a single, very out-of-place watercolour still life of some tulips in a vase with a sliced pomegranite. The red fruit's juice stained the tablecloth slightly, the white pith that separated the kernels had browned slightly, and one half-sliced ruby seed had fallen from its place. The greenish-white tulips looked a bit wilted, as if the painter had set up his still life but abandoned it for a day or so before painting. It was of a totally different style than the rest of the paintings, and not just in subject matter. 

Severus sat down noiselessly beside her and waited for her reaction. After a while, she slowly turned to him and asked, "What's the surprise?"

"I would have thought that would be obvious." 

Realization dawned across her face as a faint blush at her oblivious question. She looked at Severus, grinning in a slightly self-deprecating manner.

"No comment from the estimable Ms. Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire of Gryffindor House? A rare occurrence indeed!" sneered Snape in what he meant to be a facetious manner, but he saw in an instant that his seemingly benign comment had a profound impact on the girl.

"They're interesting. I quite like them, but the one in the middle is out of place here," she stated hastily, almost defiantly, as if she felt a need to prove wrong his exclamation.

"How so? Do you think that _all _the paintings in my quarters had to match the décor?"

"Generally speaking, sir, in properly decorated spaces, the paintings _do_ match the décor. That's usually the point of paintings."

The formality in her diction, even her tone, made him feel that he had somehow offended her with his good-natured know-it-all comment. 

"Enough with the sir!" he roared, not intending to be half as frightening as he actually was.

She glared at him, slightly startled and confused, but somewhat angry nonetheless. Although she did not speak, it was clear that she was having a sort of internal battle.

"I must apologize, Hermione. That was very rude of me."

"It's all right, it just startled me is all. Apology accepted."

"Thank you. As we were discussing before, what do you think of the paintings?"

"I believe that I told you they were interesting, and the one with tulips is out of place. Did you do it, sir?"

"No, but I did paint the rest. That particular one was a gift."  
  


"From whom? If you don't mind me prying, Severus."

"It was a gift from my late girlfriend," he responded in a lamely-attempted casual tone, the sadness adding a slight edge to his voice. Hermione stared at him expectantly for a second, then realized her mistake and looked away.

_This is Severus Snape we're talking about. A man known for being particularly grumpy and taciturn, especially when it comes to his private life._ Hermione remembered what Harry had said back after their fifth year, when he told them about the Pensieve incident. She remembered Harry's description vividly – how he told of the livid rage evident on Snape's face, his slight, uncontrolled shaking.

"It's nice, it really is. It just doesn't seem suited to the space, is all."

"I don't know why I keep it there. It only depresses me. So prophetic. Did you know that she gave it to me only two and a half weeks before she died?" 

It clearly wasn't meant for an answer. She'd not know anything of the sort, and besides, old Snape seemed to be in a flashback of sorts. She listened as he rambled on.

"She gave it to me only two and a half weeks before she died. July 14, 1980. That's when I decided to go to the Light side, you see. No use staying on the Dark side after she was gone."

Pity stirred in Hermione's heart, and she asked her question before even thinking about how he might react.

"Was she killed by Death Eaters, Severus?"

He turned to face her fully. "If that was their intent, I would never have let them near my Susanna! She was too powerful, and plus, she was on their side. No, Susanna had cancer... brain cancer. A simple Muggle disease that wizards have yet to find a cure for..."

This revelation rankled in Hermione's mind for the rest of the night, and well into the next morning. It was disturbing, really, not that Snape's lover had been on the Dark side, but that wizards could not cure cancer just as Muggles couldn't. 


	5. The Dopemaster Headmistress

Acceptance, Ch. 5 – The Dopemaster Headmistress

Hermione went up to her quarters, brooding on the many revelations she had experienced during her newest encounter with Snape. That he even had a girlfriend, in the first place, was a bit of a surprise, though she didn't know why. Why shouldn't he have a sex life? He was only human, after all. Although during her early school days, Hermione strongly suspected him of being a eunuch. He had just seemed so... asexual back then.

            But now she saw him for what he really was: a man, with emotions like any other, and a hard time expressing them. Except... he hadn't been like that for a while, now. Since she had been having tea with him, in fact. Perhaps he really was under the influence of some potion, Polyjuice or otherwise.

            She stayed awake for quite some time thereafter, thoughts of Severus rankling in her head. For some reason, she was having difficulty falling asleep. She speculated that it was because the food was either too rich, too spicy, or just too plentiful, because her stomach was making odd noises and she did not want to move at all.

"I need to be awake for my classes tomorrow, which means sleeping now" she told herself. With that, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where she found the appropriate bottle of sleeping draught and downed a dose.

            Hermione glared at the papers in front of her, and rubbed her temples slowly. Her first-year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Transfiguration class was being more rambunctious than usual as they made their way into the class, and the ensuing noise was making her head throb like it was being trampled by rampaging hippogriffs. After ten minutes, she could take it no longer.

"SILENCE! ALL OF YOU IN YOUR SEATS OR I'LL TAKE FIFTY POINTS OFF YOUR HOUSES!"

Suddenly, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Not a student was out of seat, and they looked at her with fear-stricken expressions on their faces.

_Since when are they so deathly afraid of me?_

She looked around at them with a false reassuring smile on her face.

"Come now, I don't bite. We need to begin the lesson. What is class for, but to learn?" She was sickened at how sugary she sounded; she reminded herself of Dolores Umbridge. A shudder ran down her spine. But when she was in a bad mood, she had only two tones of voice – the sharp, cutting one that projected what she was feeling, and the saccharine one that did a horrible job at masking her impatience.

"Please turn to page two hundred and fifty one. Who can tell me the basic properties of transfiguration?"

Only one hand shot up – a Gryffindor girl, the class know-it-all. She decided to give the rest of the class a chance to answer the question.

"Anyone else know the answer? This was in the previous unit on which you just had a test; you should know it by now!"

She realized that she sounded harsher than usual, even for a bad mood. She decided to call on a Hufflepuff boy that she had never seen participate in her few weeks of teaching.

"Mr. MacLellan. Will you tell us what the basic properties of transfiguration are?"

"How should I know, Ma'am?"

She decided to disregard his rudeness.

"Well, you got that question right on the test. What are they?"

Mr. MacLellan, who obviously was very cheesed at being picked on, threw her a very disrespectful look and said, "Honestly, Professor _Granger_, I don't give a shit."

Hermione was taken aback not only by the child's language but also by his impertinence. To experience such inappropriate behavior from a first year, and a Hufflepuff at that! She was his professor, she demanded his respect. Surely the world was coming to an end.

"Mr. MacLellan! How dare you speak in that manner! Fifty, no seventy five points from Hufflepuff for your impertinence. I am disgusted with your behavior. You put the noble name of Hufflepuff to shame! I shall speak with you after class."

The classroom was absolutely silent for a moment, and then the students broke out in whispers.

"She's pulling a Snape on us, yelling like that and taking off so many points."

"I hear she's been going down to the dungeons a lot lately to meet up with the greasy git."  
  
"Maybe he's rubbing off on her!"

"I bet he's poisoning her with potions to make her like him!"

"No, he's using his mind controlling skills to make her his slave!"  
  
Hermione had not heard such stupid, completely untrue rumors since her own early school days, and decided to make that clear.

"I'm not deaf, you know. I can hear what you're saying, and I must ask that you not discuss it in my classroom. Honestly, what is with you first years? Have you no respect for your professors?"

Again, silence.

"Well?"

The entire class glared at her. A Gryffindor girl whispered something to her Hufflepuff friend.

"Would you care to share that sentiment, Miss Martin?"  
  
"No, Professor Granger."

"If it's something you wouldn't tell me to my face, I'm sure you shouldn't be saying it in class."

After a few more moments' silence, Hermione resumed the lesson. There was no major disrespect for the most part for the rest of the class. She finished her lecture immediately as the bell rang. As her students filed out, many turned around to look at her, but this time without so much anger. Mr. MacLellan stood before her desk, tapping his foot impatiently. She transfigured a glass marble into a chair and instructed him to sit.

"Your behavior today was completely unacceptable, Mr. MacLellan. I would expect more of anyone, let alone one of the members of Hufflepuff house, who are renowned for being respectful and kindly. I am giving you a detention, to be served with Mr. Filch, and I would like you to explain yourself."

"Sorry, Professor Granger. It won't happen again." She could tell he didn't mean it at all.

"Would you like to tell me why you did it?"

"I don't have a good reason, Professor."

"Very well, Geoff, I shall be talking to Professor Sprout about this incident."

"Don't call me Geoff, you mud-." He stopped short.

"Intolerance based on race will not be accepted. You need to learn that. And if you do not respect your elders, you will find yourself with an ever increasing pile of detentions. You are dismissed."

He stomped off.

With a sigh, Hermione retreated to her office for a pot of tea. Her headache, ever persistent, had if anything increased since the end of class. And ever so luckily, she had neither Advil nor Headache Relieving Potion left.

_Great,_ she thought as she charmed the kettle to boil and levitated her teabag to her mug. She watched the steam rise from the vessel listlessly and brooded over what to do about Geoff MacLellan. Obviously, she needed to talk to Sprout, and McGonagall would probably end up hearing about it, so she decided to talk to her too.

_I wonder if I should tell Snape about this._

_No, he'll just tell me to do exactly what I did, and tell me about when _I _was an impertinent little whelp. Wonderful predictable Snape. Severus. _

_Yes, I definitely need to talk to McGonagall. She'll know what to do. After I finish my tea, I'll go to her office. _

Three hours later, Hermione found herself in front of the desk that had once been Albus Dumbledore's. However, in the place of the delicate, whirring instruments that had occupied the desk under its previous owner, were a few tasteful ornaments, such as a Polish blue-and-white ceramic cat figurine, a decorative box with flowers, and an accurately-sized mercury glass apple. Hermione marveled at the beauty of the fruit: it looked as it had been plucked from the tree and dipped in the thinnest layer of silver, so realistic were its details.

Minerva McGonagall sat opposite her, on the other side of the desk, and was presently busy with tea. The stern witch hadn't aged severely since Hermione's school days – she had no more wrinkles and only a few more streaks of silver decorated her pulled-back hair. _Well, it has only been two years, after all._ She wore the same square spectacles as always. With a look around at all the portraits, Hermione wondered if spectacles were a prerequisite for being Head of Hogwarts. Dumbledore had them, Dippett had them. Hell, even Phinneas Nigellus had them.

"Hermione, dear, every teacher finds at least one student that is difficult. You have to get used to it – not everyone will like you, and if you set out to please everyone, you'll find yourself even more disliked than before."

Hermione smiled inwardly, remembering the incidents of her fourth year, when Hagrid had been hiding because of the Daily Prophet slander. Dumbledore had offered words of the same kind, with a sidenote about his brother Aberforth and the goat scandal.

McGonagall noticed that she wasn't paying attention.

"Miss Granger, do pay attention to me when I speak to you."

"Sorry, Headmistress, but I was just thinking."

"Anyways. What was I telling you? Yes, don't concern yourself. Just take points off – if Mr. MacLellan continues, eventually the rest of his house will come down on him for losing so many points."

"Thank you, Minerva."

"Anything else? I noticed you've been seeing Severus. That's nice of you; he's very solitary and antisocial towards most people. Quite unfortunate, really. He's a sweet boy, underneath it all. All he needs is a little company, but he never thought of Albus and I as intimate friends. We had tea, sometimes, of course, but he never chatted with us at all. After all, we taught him in his school days."

Hermione found it slightly odd that the Headmistress had just referred to Severus as a boy. He was, after all, a good twenty-odd years older than she was, and had been her professor.

"I can see he's antisocial most of the time, he certainly displayed that side a lot while I was a student. But he's been... different lately. Chattier, and not as sarcastic. It's a bit unnerving, really. He used to be super-moody, but now he's almost... mellow. It's odd."

"Indeed."

"Would you happen to know anything about it? Anything happen in his personal life that would smooth him out?"

"Not that I know of. Occasionally, I require him to tell me what he's been doing aside from teaching, like a sort of therapy. Nothing attitude-changing has happened since you left school. Or at least, he hasn't told me about it."

"There really must be something. It's like he's a whole different person altogether."

"Well, if you're so curious..."

"Yes? Do tell."

"You absolutely have to know, Granger?"

"Please, Headmistress."

"Well...."

"Just tell me and get it over with! It's not like I'll tell anyone you told me, or tell Snape himself for that matter."

"I've been modifying his tea supply."

"And..... um ... What exactly does that entail?"

"Just a little bit of Revealing Potion, dehydrated of course, and in powder form. The ironic thing is, Severus brewed it for me himself. I told him I'd be using it for the depressed and disturbed survivors of the war."

"Kill me now."

"Why ever should I do that, Miss Granger?"

"You... you are such a Slytherin!"

McGonagall looked fit to be tied. "How dare you! Never have I been more offended in my life! Get out of my office this in-instant!" However, at that last phrase, she cracked up laughing.

"Actually, Minerva, I think I'll leave. Surely you have more important, Headmistress-type things to do and can't waste all your time talking to junior professors like myself. I'll see you later."

"Do tell Severus hello for me when you see him. Goodbye, Hermione." The older woman, still chuckling slightly, smiled warmly at her.

The lake shone in the soft autumn sun, and the surface rippled towards the middle where the Giant Squid took full advantage of the weather before it would be forced to retreat to the not-so-pleasant depths of the lake in winter. If she could throw far enough, Hermione would toss a bit of the muffin she had with her from the kitchens to it. Wondering idly if it could even eat muffins, she wandered around to where some students were frolicking out-of-bounds by a few dozen yards. She deducted twenty points from each of them, and continued her walk, burgundy robes fanned out behind her as she strolled.


	6. Meanwhile, in the Dungeons

Disclaimer: Harry Potter no es mío. Él parece a JK Rowling, a los Hermanos Warner, a Scholastic, y a Bloomsbury.

Harry Potter isn't mine. He belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic, and Bloomsbury.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Just to let you know, this does have a plot. It's been a long time coming, but it's beginning to show a bit. It should be very clear by Chapter 10, by the way I wrote out the storyline. I've also decided that I cannot write serious fics well. I'll try, but I suppose I'm just more suited for humor. But don't worry if you like this, (and if you don't, be afraid), for I shall continue.

This is dedicated, as always, to the WIKTTeers, wherever they may be. They're certainly not on the WIKTT board, there has been an obscene paucity of posts for the last few days. Also dedicated to Hayseed, the AuthorGoddess. She rocks! Go read her "Getting the Hang of Thursdays". Now for the story itself...

Acceptance

By Miss Tito

Chapter Six – Meanwhile, in the Dungeons...

After another long day of classes, horrible, long, boring, drawn-out, painfully slow classes, Severus slumped into his favorite woebegone beaten-down leather sofa. Opposite him, his wall of paintings, both by himself and his late girlfriend, forced him into his usual post-work brooding.

_Those paintings.__ I really don't like them too much. I should just paint something else to replace them – a snake would do. Or a still life of a few of my... more _interesting_ bottles. Eh – I don't really like still lives either. Especially that one from Susanna – it doesn't fit in. Too bright. Miss Granger – Hermione – damn her. She was right, as always. Insufferable know-it-all. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being too damned nosy to keep in her own business. Doesn't know what's good for her. Why couldn't she have kept the focus on MY paintings, just as a point of interest. Just like her to find the ONE thing that I wouldn't want her to and bring it into sight, plain as you please! _

_And there I was, trying to help her lessen the traumas of her own life. Poor thing, she can't grade her essays fast enough! Woe is she! At least she didn't have other professors in doubt of her allegiances._

_I know all about being the new teacher on the block, oh yes. Potion ingredients flung at me by students only four years my junior! And the war, at the same time! The taunts, rumors, half of them actually TRUE, following me. Oh, but I showed them, I sure did. Oh yes. _

_And then there were the meetings. Not only those with the Death Eaters. I could stand being watched by twenty other people wearing the exact same thing as myself, but the Order meetings were torture. Everyone cooing around Potter, stupid Potter, with his stupid child and Mudblood wife. _Such a HERO James is, Severus, if only you could see..._ I saw it all right. A true hero of word and deed!. And me working my ass off behind the scenes and only glares from half the Order to repay me. Only Dumbledore to talk to, really, and he always tried to press some inane sort of Muggle sweet on me. And now he's dead and Minerva's there, but she mocks me and MISS GRANGER pries where she shouldn't!_

The Potions Master, really in a much fouler mood than his surface thoughts conveyed, meandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Seeing the boxes, with their cheery façades and fuzzy pictures of the interior of what could pass for Santa Claus's house, sent him into a fit of rage.

_These tea boxes look like something that the cow Umbridge would keep in her cupboard! Can't the house-elves put my sodding tea in plain old glass jars instead of these atrocious schmaltzy capsules of dearness! Fuck it all, I'll just toss them. At least my coffee jars don't mock my décor with their insipid teddy-bears!_

The dustbin shot across the kitchen to where Severus stood, shaking with irrational rage, wand at the ready. He jabbed his wand at the offending red plaid boxes and they leaped into the bin, one after the other, like lemmings off a cliff.

Finally satisfied with his actions, Severus set about brewing some Dreamless Sleep potion. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't sleep without it. Or rather, the ritual of making such a routine potion, complex though it was, allowed him to slip into a sort of trance. Severus snorted as he realized that he sounded like Trelawney. __

_Trance indeed. I've heard the only trances that occur in her room happen to the students who are put under by the noxious cloud of incense smoke that hangs about the place._

About an hour and many disjointed thoughts later, Severus bottled and labeled the potion, measured out enough to make him sleep until his alarm went off at six thirty-five the next morning, and swallowed it. The soft waves of sleepiness descended upon him as he changed into his grey flannel pajamas, and slipped into his utilitarian, standard-issue Hogwarts four-poster bed with green twill hangings.

The next morning, Severus awoke to find the room in exactly the same condition in which he left it. His mood, however, had all but improved – he had a pounding headache and he felt like blasting the next creature to cross his path into the depths of the lake. He stalked into the kitchen for a morning cup of tea.

There was no tea.

_Oh, sod it all! All I want right now is some bloody tea and I threw it all out! _

He pounded his head softly and repeatedly against the mahogany cupboard.

_So, what did I say? It's coffee for me from now on, I suppose. _

He belatedly realized that he had no idea how to use a coffee maker.

_Get over it, Snivellus, you're a wizard! Does that mean anything to you? Does your wand actually serve a purpose?_

Around ten o'clock that morning, in the middle of Double Potions with the fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins, Severus lamented his woeful inadequacy at conjuring food.

All of a sudden, an ominous _sploosh_ drew his attention from the scroll he was currently dissecting with red ink to one ginger-headed Gryffindor, Bilius Weasley's son, who had spent entirely too much time growing up with Fred and George. Severus blamed the Grim.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for tampering with other students' potions. You know fully well I have no patience for troublemakers, or have you been too busy cooking up schemes under that hideous carrot mop of yours to notice that I was speaking to YOU!"

Alarius Weasley snapped his head up at that last shout.

"I didn't do anything, Sir. It was Fishbeck who tossed it into Miss Giles's cauldron." His deadpan was so convincing that even McGonagall would have accepted it. Severus, however, knew better than to believe a Gryffindor, especially when the person in question was one of his own Slytherins.

"Mr. Fishbeck, would you care to enlighten me on what Mr. Weasley put in Miss Giles's potion?"

The class broke out in murmurs – taunts from the Slytherin side and outraged comments from the Gryffindors.

"Sir, Alarius didn't do anything! It was Fishbeck, and I'll swear it on my mother's – "

"Silence, Miss Greene. Forty points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn."

"But Sir, she always speaks out of turn and you've never taken points before..."

"Good point, Mr. Madley. A further forty points from Gryffindor for your previous offences, Miss Greene, and be grateful it isn't more!"

Gleeful at the outraged expressions of the Gryffindors, Fishbeck and the few students surrounding him smirked. That is, until Giles' potion, which had been confined to a large cauldron in the row ahead of them, burst free of its prison in a spectacular explosion. Most of the Slytherin half stood there, dripping in magenta potion.

"Go get cleaned up," Snape said with a flick of his hand. "That potion was useless. Perhaps you should _thank_ Weasley over there. He's the one that spared you from a lifetime spent in miniature. Another ten points for the mess, then, Weasley."

Fishbeck glared at Weasley and Weasley at Snape, but none of them said a word. The Slytherins all filed over to the Gothic-looking stone sinks in the back of the classroom and began to wash up.

After inspecting his students to make sure none of them were burnt by the botched brew, the Potions Master dismissed them a full hour early and retreated to his quarters to stew in his pounding headache.

_Time for some headache potion and tea, my longstanding after-class companions._

Severus, however, had just walked into his kitchen when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the headmistress' head floating in his fire.

"Minerva," he groaned.

"Severus, please join me in my office for a chat. I have much to discuss with you. Regarding a certain Mr. Weasley."

_Great, I'm really in it this time – in for a full out telling-off by the Queen of Gryffindor Righteousness. I suppose _she _thinks ninety points is a little much for one lesson. And I'd bet anything she'll accuse me for unfairly favoring my Slytherins. Another day, another accusation of favoritism. I'd better take my tea now, otherwise I'll never be able to stand it._

_..._

_Joyous.__ I have no more tea. _

__

Severus stepped into Minerva's office and sat down silently on the chair before her desk. The whirring instruments of Dumbledore's time had been replaced with inane cat figurines, occasionally stretching for a second before sitting back down to nap.

_How fitting that the aging Gryffindor Lioness would have an affinity for cats. _

Assuming that the Headmistress had stepped out for a moment, Severus took the opportunity to indulge his curiosity. He picked up the silver-looking apple and proceeded to examine it.

_It must be a prerequisite for applying for the Head position to be eccentric. She seems to have an affinity for Muggle kitchen objects._ He sneered slightly._ Hmm, a salt shaker, eh?  
  
_

Turning it upside down, Severus discovered that it wasn't indeed salt – which he had suspected. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he withdrew a small empty phial from his robes and quickly scooped the silver sample into it. A few heartbeats later, Minerva McGonagall appeared in the doorway.

"Ah, Severus, you've finally arrived. Would you care for some tea?"

"I don't think I would. What is this business with Mr. Weasley about which you wanted to speak?"

"Professor Weasley has had a letter from home. Apparently Arthur's taken seriously ill, and Bill had to go back to the Burrow to help his mother. Will you take his classes?"  
  
Severus groaned. _Well, this is a lucky day for Alarius Weasley. He just saved Gryffindor about seventy points for not being the cause of a meeting with Minerva. However, for Bill Weasley... one-hundred fifty for giving me more work to do. And for making me meet with Minerva. I'll talk to him when he returns...._

"I suppose I can't refuse your request. Although I do wonder, who will be substitute head of Gryffindor, Minerva? Surely you're too busy, and as there are no other Gryffindors on staff...."

"Alas, Professor Granger, who _is _a Gryffindor _and _on the staff, is too young and stressed. I think I can manage myself. I only held that position for forty years myself." Her lips gave a twitch. "And if I can't manage it, Miss Shahinian can. Lucky for us we had both a Gryffindor Head Girl and Boy this year."

"Yes, how lucky."

"And while we're on the subject, I had a visit from Miss Granger the other day."

"Did you now."

"She's quite concerned about you, it seems. She says you're not yourself."

"Quite odd. I do seem to still be possessed of the same mind and body as ever, albeit a bit older than when I last thought about it."

The headmistress chuckled a little. Severus frowned at her.

"What exactly did your Miss Granger say, McGonagall?"

"Oh, nothing alarming, just that she remembered you as slightly more sarcastic from her school days. Perhaps you're losing your touch, Severus." She looked positively amused; she was definitely smiling, and her eyes glinted with glee.

"I suppose I shall merely have to meet with you every morning, and have you share some detestable news of the ilk of today's, and then I shall be in a bad enough mood to teach for the rest of the day."

"In all truthfulness, Severus, I think it'd do you some good to adopt a nicer persona. It'd certainly help you earn brownie points with the students. It's good to be respected, feared even, but not hated for being unfairly cruel and unfair in general."

Severus dreaded what she was going to say before she even said it.

"You know, Severus, I did notice that you took off ninety points from Gryffindor earlier. I hope Mr. Weasley the younger is not causing you trouble?" Here, another mirthful smile.

_A miracle she's not bringing me to task on it. I'm her deputy, for crying out loud, not a junior professor needing constant guidance._

"As always, Minerva. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some work to do."

"Of course, I must let the busy man get back to his busy man life. I'll see you at Friday's staff meeting, if not before then."

"Goodbye, Professor."

Once satisfied that he was out of Minerva's sight and hearing ranges, Severus pulled out his phial. The silver powder twinkled in the torchlight. _Hmm, probably a dehydrated potion of some sort.__ That sneaky old hag. I bet she's been poisoning me all along. Wouldn't put it past her. Not Veritaserum, that'd be white. Neither is it Calming Draught, which might be gray but definitely not silver. _He racked his brain for any silver potions he might have given her. _Well, it's probably not plant growth elixir, for her lagging philodendron. _He began to scowl even more deeply as he realized what it probably was. _The bitch! She's been spiking my tea with Revealing potion all along. And I thought she always had it with her because it had some special significance to her, like an anniversary gift from Albus or something. Of all things. _He actually growled, frightening a pair of students who were snogging in a tapestry-hidden alcove. He whirled around and promptly deducted thirty points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff each, for behaving in an inappropriate manner. 

_I still must test it before making any accusations, naturally, but still. THE NERVE!_

He retired to his rooms to think, have a cup of tea, and stew.

As soon as he opened the cupboards, he realized once more that there was no tea.

_Just as well. It's probably spiked with Revealer, anyways._


	7. Role Reversals

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any related characters or places. That honor belongs solely to J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Raincoast books, and perhaps some other people I can't remember at the time being. This is not intended for profit of any sort, nor do I have anything valuable worth a lawsuit.

This is dedicated, as always, to WIKTT. And to people who review. Enjoy!

Acceptance

by Miss Tito

Chapter Seven: Role Reversals

A few days after her meeting with McGonagall, Hermione sat at her desk grading papers yet again when she spotted Hedwig perched on her windowsill, shivering in the frigid autumn night air. Like the sudden change in the weather, Hermione knew this letter was inevitable. Bill Weasley had said that he was taking a hiatus to care for his ailing father only yesterday at the faculty meeting. Hermione sighed, opening the letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_How're things in the land of marking papers? Having fun being on the giving end of corrections? Hope you're not overtaxing yourself with nitpicky details._

_Thanks for your congratulations! We're very happy that we're getting married too. Mum wasn't too glad at first, she'd always dreamed of having all her children have seven children of their own, but then realized that there wouldn't be enough to properly divide amongst all of those kids! _

_Bad news, however.__ The wedding has been postponed. Dad is really ill – he's been having dizzy spells and bouts of nausea for quite a while now. He's been to the outpatient clinic at St Mungo's a few times now, and they aren't serious about it, they say it's just gradual buildup of negative magical energy in his brain, but they have yet to find a way to fix it. Tomorrow we're going to a Muggle clinic in Ottery St. Catchpole. Maybe they'll have some answers._

_However, despite Dad's mystery illness, we just wanted to tell you that you're Maid of Honor for the wedding. Mum insisted. She even offered to make the dress herself, but Harry insisted that we had it made by the tailor who's making out robes. Since (much to my chagrin) we're using his money, we can afford it. Only the best for our favorite know-it-all! We'll set you up an appointment later, I guess. (I know you're thinking that we should do it now, because we always put things off to the last minute, but don't worry, we'll make sure you have it at least a few days before the wedding!)_

_And as an answer to your last letter (sorry we didn't get back to you earlier!): I think you're probably having tea with McGonagall. Or Sinistra. Although McGonagall is sort of obvious, don't you think? Harry thinks it's Trelawney. I told him that there's no way you'd ever have ANYTHING to do with that miserable old bat, and Harry just smiled at me. He's so cute when he smiles, isn't he?   
  
Sorry to go all mushy on you there, won't happen again! Hope you're well. Give our love to all at Hogwarts. Especially old Snape. He could probably use it, the git!_

_Love, _

_Ron_

The details of Mr. Weasley's Mystery Illness sparked Hermione's interest. After all, there was a point in her life when she wanted to be a doctor. _Poor Mr. Weasley! To dedicate his entire life to working in the most underpaid, pointless department in the Ministry of Magic, live a life of poverty, and jeopardize his chances of ever reaching retirement because of an illness most likely caused by the work he so desperately loved! How cruel can life get? And Molly, what will she do if he dies? Sure, almost any one of her children could support her, but I don't think she'd _ever_ be the same. And – I know I shouldn't be concerned with it, but – what about Ron and Harry's wedding? What if they have to wait years, just because they don't want to be celebrating when Ron's father is so ill?_

Hermione sent Hedwig off with an owl treat and added "Reply to Ron's Letter" to her mental to-do list. Glancing at her luminous wall clock, she noticed it was eight – the time she usually joined Snape for tea. _Well, if he's not going to invite me, I might as well invite him. Although I don't have anything interesting to show for my quarters, just a few sofas increasingly covered in Crookshanks hair and some bookcases crammed full of – what else? - books. _

She grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into her fire, and called, "Severus Snape!" After a few moments, Snape's head appeared in the midst of the flames. He looked extremely tired – dark circles underlined his bloodshot eyes.

"What do you want?" he inquired none-too-politely.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to come up to my place for tea. You look like you need it."  
  
He glared at her. "I'll be there in ten minutes." He immediately broke the connection.

_My, he was short with me. _

She looked down at her daytime teaching robes and noticed how filthy they were.

_Someone really needs to invent a charm to get rid of cat hair. Banishing charms only end up getting rid of the clothes, and Severing charms, well, they don't work too well either. I suppose I'll just have to change._

Ten minutes later, she heard a knock on her door. Clad in a baggy navy blue jumper and blue jeans, she answered the door to find Professor Snape standing there, perfunctory glower plastered on his face.

"Severus, how glad you could come. Come, sit down. I'll be right out with the tea."

"I didn't know you had a kitchen. I was under the delusion that only I had that luxury in my quarters."

"One doesn't need a kitchen to make food. You must forget that I am a witch."

"You don't encourage the thought dressed in that outfit you have on. You look like a middle-aged Muggle woman doing the shopping of a Saturday afternoon."

"And you would know that because...?"

"I do venture out of the wizarding world on occasion, Miss Granger. After all, not all vices are catered to by magical folk," remarked Snape, lips curled up in a somewhat evil sneer.

"Come off it, you're probably just buying paint."

"How well you know me," he replied sarcastically.

"Do you want tea, or did you come for the lovely company?"

"I assure you, the only reason I came is for the tea. I have been deprived as of late."

"How so?"

"You must know that I brew potions for Minerva?"

"Naturally."

"And you remember how she had all the students who survived the war talk to Mind-Healers?"

"Vaguely. Go on."

"Well, you probably don't know that she spiked the pumpkin juice for the student populace with Revealing potion. That I made for her."

"I didn't know that, but it makes sense. After all, the worst thing you can do when you're traumatized is to keep your feelings to yourself."

"She had some surplus. She's been putting the dehydrated potion in my tea supply since the end of the war. I ran tests on it yesterday to make sure I was correct. I cannot _believe _that I didn't figure it out before. I think I shall resign just to deprive that old conniving hag of her Potions Master." He rested his forehead on his palms.

_Poor sod must really be at wit's end. He seems to be talking to himself._

"Think of all the children who would have chronic colds because no one can brew the Pepper-Up Potion properly!"

"That's their own fault, now isn't it? Brats shouldn't be outside in the first place if it's cold," He groused.

Hermione continued on in the original vein. "And you rid yourself of the tea after you discovered it was spiked."

"Not quite. I had to rummage in my garbage in order to find it." The slightest bit of color arose in his cheeks.

_My, that's an amusing image. Snape bent over that galvanized dust bin of his just to find some tea boxes. I won't ask how they got there._

"Shall we finish this conversation over tea?"

"Fine. Minerva probably hasn't tampered with _yours_," he added spitefully.

With a flourish of her wand, Hermione conjured the same sort of tea service that McGonagall did once for Harry and Ron after they crashed the Anglia.

"I noticed you weren't at dinner, and thought you might want some food."

"How thoughtful of you. Have you ever noticed that I'm _not at_ dinner, save for once or twice a week?"

"Of course I have. You seem to be in no right state to cook anything either, though."

Snape sighed, not good-naturedly.

_Well, if he's going to be unpleasant, I think I shall go along with it._

"Did you know that Harry and Ron are getting married, Severus? Aren't you happy?" she inquired brightly.

"I'm not surprised. With the way that Weasley idolized Potter, I can't see him ever wanting to spend his life with anyone else. Although I daresay for a while I thought that you were falling for him, and vice versa."

"I got over him eventually."  
  
Severus smirked maliciously.

"And who is the object of your desires lately, Hermione?" he taunted. She blushed a little.

"I could ask you the same thing, Professor."

"Be careful, Miss Granger, or you may well end up as Sibyll Trelawney once said you would – a dried up, shriveled old maid."

Hermione scowled very deeply at the mention of Trelawney. "Not unlike yourself, really, Severus. You forget that I am yet young."

Her scowl was now matched by the one on her companion's face.

"Are you insinuating that _I _am an old maid? I'm perfectly fine as I am – no one sharing my quarters to distract me from work. I'm getting tired, Hermione, I really should return to my quarters now."

"Then I suppose I brewed this tea for nothing?"

"I suppose you did." She sighed in disgust. "Fine, I'll drink it." He half-heartedly stifled a mighty yawn.

They sat and talked for a while longer until Crookshanks approached the two and pounced on Hermione, mewling loudly and rubbing his head against her no longer hairless jumper.

"Fine, Crookshanks, I guess it's time for your dinner." She turned to Snape. "I'm sorry, but he gets very insistent when I don't feed him."

Scooping up the ginger-haired cat, Hermione trudged out of the room. However, upon returning, she was greeted with a most unusual sight.

Severus Snape was half sitting, half laying on her couch, head lolled to one side, snoring slightly.

_Oh great, he must really have been tired. Too bad I invited him up here, now I've got to either wake him up so he'll go back to his rooms, or tuck him in. Fabulous. Looks like I've got to break out the blankets._

Exasperated, she carefully undid his shoes, put his feet up on her couch, and draped a burgundy wool throw over the sleeping Potions Master.

She laughed at the improbability of the situation as she pulled her own nightgown over her head and crawled under the covers of her replica Gryffindor dormitory bed.

_Who would ever have thought, Severus Snape sleeping in my quarters, on my couch. It's almost too surreal to believe._

"_Nox__!_"


End file.
